


The Sculpture

by faerierequiem



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Gen, M/M, Mild Smut, Riding, tags will be updated as story progresses, title is subject to possible change in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerierequiem/pseuds/faerierequiem
Summary: Achilles clung to Patroclus, an arm wrapped across his chest and a foot hooked around his ankle. He brought Patroclus’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his wrist, his palm, his fingertips, and when Patroclus told him that in a few days’ time he would be gone with Briseis for a night, Achilles followed.-or in other words: Achilles goes on a trip with Briseis and Patroclus, but things don't go according to plan and Briseis and Achilles end up separated from Patroclus.
Relationships: Achilles & Briseis (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Briseis & Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	The Sculpture

Achilles heard the women before he saw them. They were giggling to themselves over matters that he normally would have paid no attention to, but a drop of curiosity fell on him when he heard the uttering of Patroclus’s name. He neared closer to where the two women stood. It wasn’t difficult to remain unnoticed. They were too absorbed in their conversation.

“He has a kind smile,” one of the women said.

A smile grew on the face of the other woman. “Be careful that you don’t try and take his kindness the wrong way.”

The first woman scoffed. “I am not that foolish! Everyone knows about him and Achilles.”

“Yes, that. But don’t forget that Patroclus is Briseis’s terrain.”

Laughter. “Since when was it that men became land and women their owners?”

“You know what it is that I meant.”

The laughter subsided. “Briseis has taken care of and cared for Patroclus far better and longer than either of us combined.”

A nod. Then, “Do you wonder about if she—if _they_ have ever come to take care of each other in other, more private matters?”

The first woman’s gasp accompanied the widening of Achilles’s eyes. During the course of the conversation, his curiosity had faded to a faint boredom. Now, he felt it swallowed by a shock that straightened his back, an anger that tightened his fists, a revulsion that knotted his intestines.

“What are you suggesting?” the first woman asked, but she found enjoyment in this scandalous turn in a way Achilles did not.

The other woman opened her mouth to reply. “I— Prince Achilles!”

Achilles did not glance at the women as he walked pass, but he saw in his peripheral vision how they bowed their heads, lowering themselves to him out of respect and, he knew, embarrassment. Words were heavy upon his tongue. One half of him wanted to demand the woman to finish the answer she’d been about to give. The other half wanted to tell them that these “other, more private matters” were none of their concern.

However, Achilles’s pride prevented him from doing either. It was not his usual method of attack, but silence could be just as lethal as any weapon. He knew his presence alone would be enough to make the women rethink their words and be cautious of who—and what—they spoke of in the future. Knowing this made it easier to hold his tongue, but nothing to forget the words that had been spoken and left unspoken.

* * *

There were nights in Troy where the hotness of a day did not go away when the sun went down. The heat caused the men to abandon their blankets and sleep in the nude. In more desperate cases, the flaps of tents were pulled back in hopes of a cooling breeze from the sea. Tonight was one of those nights.

However, the flaps of the tent Achilles shared with Patroclus remained closed, and the sweat that shone on their skin was more than a result of the warm temperature. The interior of the tent was filled with the faint sounds of pleasure. There was the slight hitch of Patroclus’s breath as Achilles moved in a way that he knew Patroclus liked. A small sound, half-surprise and half-satisfaction, leapt from Achilles’s mouth as Patroclus responded in kind by shifting upwards into him.

After a moment, Achilles came to a pause, panting for air. He’d been too fast. When he met Patroclus’s eyes, he could see that Patroclus was aware of this as well. Patroclus did not mind when he was rough, but there was a difference between being overly eager and this.

“… _Him and Achilles_ …”

Achilles had not yet told Patroclus of the women’s conversation. He’d managed to clear the senseless talk from his mind, but it had come back. Although Patroclus did not know about any of it, Achilles knew his actions was revealing enough of something being amiss. His emotions showed across his face in a way Patroclus was well-versed in understanding.

Patroclus reached out his hands. With one hand, he stroked it along Achilles’s thigh. With the other, he tucked a strand of Achilles’s hair behind his ear and ran his fingers along Achilles’s jaw before resting them at a touch below his chin. “What’s troubling you?” he asked. Even when he was gone in pleasure, Patroclus’s caring nature would always win.

Fondly, Achilles leaned down to kiss him. He pulled himself back up, rolled his hips, a smile lingering on his lips. “It’s nothing worth interrupting this.”

He began to move, slowly at first, then—when the women’s words swam again through his thoughts—quick as his feet would when running down the length of a beach, or as his hands would when playing a song on the lyre. The speed of his movements were crescendos, building and building. Without having to exchange words, Achilles knew Patroclus was nearing his summit and he pressed his palms to Patroclus’s chest to steady himself in anticipation. A groan rose past his lips from the sensation of his Patroclus within him.

Patroclus gasped.

Before Achilles could think to react, Patroclus had him flipped over, so that he was the one who now laid on the bed as Patroclus straddled him from above. They stared at each other through the dimly lit darkness, breathless.

Finally, Patroclus spoke. “You’re going to wear yourself out.”

Achilles attempted to free himself, but Patroclus had pinned him down. He did so by using a move that would’ve amused Achilles in most moments, because he had been the one to teach Patroclus how when they’d wrestled as youths, but now he frowned. “I have enough stamina.”

Patroclus nodded. “I know you do.”

Achilles tried once again to unpin himself, but Patroclus was correct. He had used most of his energy and even if he could’ve exerted force against Patroclus, he wasn’t in the practice of doing so. His frown deepened. “You were close. At least…” His accusatory tone made him feel childish and he almost went quiet, but then he glanced downwards to where Patroclus was still erect. And still dry. “At least you could’ve came before— What is it?”

A corner of Patroclus’s mouth had quirked upwards. Achilles saw it spread to a grin right before Patroclus pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep on me.”

A breath fell from Achilles in a huff, partly from the ridiculousness of the suggestion, but mostly due to the sly movement of Patroclus’s hand as he touched his lips to the skin of Achilles’s neck. Achilles tried to stay in control of his voice. “When have I fallen asleep on you?”

“You did a few months ago.”

“That was because we had been going about it the entire night. You—You were tired, too.”

“Was I?” There was laughter in Patroclus’s voice. Achilles couldn’t tell if it was because of what they were talking about, or if it was because of the way his voice had slightly fumbled when Patroclus reached between his legs. Achilles felt something akin to frustration. Patroclus enjoyed teasing him too much. He didn’t know rather he wanted to watch Patroclus smile forever or to kiss him until they were out-of-breath once again.

He reached down to stop Patroclus’s hand. “You could fuck me when I’m asleep.”

His intention was to catch Patroclus off-guard. By the way Patroclus stilled, Achilles knew he had succeeded, but then the mirth died from Patroclus’s eyes in a way that caused Achilles awareness that he’d done more than surprise him. He searched for reasons why, but coarse language had never had this effect on Patroclus and before he could find a possible explanation, Patroclus leaned over to press the side of his face beside Achilles’s.

“Where is the enjoyment in that?” He asked.

“It would be enjoyable for me.” Achilles took the hand of Patroclus’s that he held and pressed the fingers to where Patroclus entered him. He kept his voice low, soft as a secret. “Because I’d get to wake up to you—” A grunt broke his sentence as Patroclus slipped his fingers into him.

Patroclus laughed close to his ear, another secret. “Because you would get to wake up to this?”

Achilles nodded, his breath heavy. He let out an irritated noise, suddenly impatient for them to finish what they had begun, but before he could voice the words, Patroclus had removed his fingers and replaced them with the part of him Achilles desired. He smiled, pleased, and lifted his legs to wrap them around Patroclus, pinning him to Achilles the way Patroclus had done him with the bed. He turned to press a kiss to Patroclus’s cheek, the corners of his lips still upturned in a smile.

Patroclus laughed again. It was a marvelous sound, more welcomed than a cold wind on the hot night, but despite himself, Achilles heard the women laughing along with him.

“ _…Patroclus is Briseis’s terrain…_ ”

With a sharp intake of breath, he held Patroclus tighter to him, chest against chest, belly against belly, his heels against Patroclus’s back, as if in some vain attempt to leave a part of him on Patroclus’s flesh and Patroclus on his. His thoughts became dangerous, impossible, and Achilles wished that Patroclus would not be so slow and tender with him. He wanted his mind blank with the intensity of hard thrusts and fast repetition.

No, Patroclus was not Briseis’s terrain. _But I am his._ Achilles was barren land, close to the sea yet never receiving the salvation of its storms. He was less fertile soil and more pale rocks that were hot to tread across even when not underneath summer’s sun, but he cooled for Patroclus’s footsteps, savored the feeling of when Patroclus dipped his fingers into Achilles’s ground to plant seeds. Flora burst forth minutes later in the form of olive trees, similar to those in Phthia’s groves, but different nevertheless, silver-leafed rather than gray. They flourished when Patroclus was happy, and withered when he was not.

And then Achilles felt Patroclus’s warmth inside of him like the roots of the trees spreading deep. It was the closest he ever got to the glory that was prophesied for him.

They lay together afterwards. Although Patroclus did not make the slightest of movements away, Achilles clung to him, an arm wrapped across his chest and a foot hooked around his ankle. He brought Patroclus’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his wrist, his palm, his fingertips, and when Patroclus told him that in a few days’ time he would be gone with Briseis for a night, Achilles followed.

* * *

On the day of their departure, Achilles was awoken by Patroclus. His mind felt clouded as if with fog. Tendrils of sleep pulled at him to lie back down and close his eyes. He shook his head to clear himself of it. Judging by the absence of sunlight pressing against the exterior of their tent and the heavy quiet that could only be brought throughout the camps by slumber, dawn had not yet arrived.

Yawning, Achilles got up from the bed. There had been enough time for preparations, but after dressing, he went to help Patroclus with any last minute details, assuring themselves that nothing was amiss. They shared a single bag between the two of them, filled with clothes, a makeshift tent, and an assortment of other objects.

He watched Patroclus reexamine the medicinal salves and herbs that would be packed along with their belongings. This was to be brought in case of an emergency, which Achilles had been startled to learn about. He had never been the fondest of Patroclus’s excursions. After all, they were in enemy territory. There were countless dangers that could bring about harm. Patroclus had assured him that that had rarely been the case, that the salves and herbs were only precautions, but nevertheless Achilles had insisted that weapons also be brought to prevent the possibility of being wounded from the beginning.

They’d settled on bringing two cloth-wrapped daggers. These were placed at the top of the bag for easy access, a compromise on the matter, replacing the spear Achilles had wanted to bring before he had realized from Patroclus’s slightly embarrassed arguments that it would not be a good idea. Briseis would be there. The spear would remind her of raids, or worse—especially if Achilles were to hold it—and a spear would draw more attention to them, so Achilles had agreed on the suggestion of daggers.

After a moment, Patroclus gave a slight, satisfied nod and tucked the remedies into the bag.

Achilles blew out the candle, took the bag to carry, and followed Patroclus out into the early morning hours. He felt a kindling of anticipation in his chest. It was different from the thrill of heading into battle, but it was not unfamiliar. He had felt this when he had ridden on Chiron’s back to Mount Pelion, or when the ships had set sail for Troy from Phthia. This was a feeling sparked from the excitement of setting out on an adventure, Patroclus by his side.

He reached out for Patroclus’s hand, found it easily even with the dark, and, their fingers intertwined, Patroclus led him to the Briseis. The tent she shared with others was located towards the center of the Myrmidon camp, making up a trio of tents that had been accommodated for the growing number of women and girls. Achilles had passed them by on previous occasions, but had never entered. He debated rather or not he wanted to when Patroclus approached the entrance of one of the tents.

As if sensing his hesitation, Patroclus paused before entering. “Would you prefer to wait outside?”

Achilles found that he did not. “I’ll come with you.” He did not let go of Patroclus’s hand, but once they were inside, Patroclus’s hand slipped from his as Patroclus moved towards the far side of the tent. The interior was crowded with bodies, women and girls lying next to each other on pallets across the ground, silent with sleep in the darkness, but there was a proper bed where Patroclus had gone, lit up by a candle that Achilles saw was being held by Briseis.

He joined them, curious of who would get a bed when all the others did not. The answer revealed itself immediately without him having to ask. The belly of the young woman on the bed was plump with that of a child. Achilles recognized her as the main reason for their trip. Patroclus had told him they would be going to Ida’s woods to resupply on agnus castus, and Achilles vaguely remembered Chiron explaining that agnus castus helped with birthing processes. The young woman on the bed. They would be collecting it for her.

Fatigue collected underneath her eyes, but there was a smile on her face.

Patroclus was talking to her in Anatolian, perhaps giving encouragements, voice gentle and made almost anew by the language. Achilles had heard him speak it before when Patroclus practiced in their tent or when Achilles asked him to teach him a new word. A conversation was different.

Patroclus spoke slowly and stumbled at spots, but the young woman never expressed confusion over what he said. Sometimes she would nod, her eyes sparkling with mirth. There was a soft look on Briseis’s face as she watched them. The young woman said something and Patroclus smiled. Achilles felt something clench inside of him, around an elusive feeling more foreign than the Anatolian.

“ _He has a kind smile_.”

Briefly, Achilles wondered if the two women were in this tent, but it would be futile to find out. Despite their words being unforgettable, their faces had been.

“Achilles!” Patroclus gestured him near.

Achilles joined him by the side of the bed.

“This is Cemre,” Patroclus told him.

Cemre. It was an unfamiliar name, but Achilles found that there was a lot that he didn’t know at the moment.

“Prince Achilles, your visit is a welcomed surprise.” Cemre’s Greek, though heavily accented, was coherent and certain.

Achilles nodded. “Thank you,” he said in Anatolian.

Cemre’s smile widened. “Another surprise,” she said in Greek. “Your Anatolian is very good.”

Achilles returned to his native tongue, not knowing how to speak his next words. “I learned from Patroclus.”

Patroclus nudged him.

Cemre caught the movement, one of her eyebrows lifted with amusement or mischief. “I learned from Patroclus as well.”

“I have not taught Achilles much,” Patroclus said. “And Briseis did most of the work in teaching you.”

Briseis shook her head.

Cemre laughed. “Both of you are too modest.”

“Then let our modesty keep you up no longer. You need your rest.” Briseis patted her on the arm. “Make sure to drink the tonic twice a day, at noon and before sleeping. I’ve tasked Lale to remind you in case you forget.”

Cemre responded in Anatolian, appearing more affable than offended. Achilles listened as Patroclus and Briseis spoke a few more words to her, and then the conversation turned to Greek as they pardoned themselves and Cemre wished them a safe travel. The world was still dark outside the tent, the sun merely a pinprick of light on the horizon, but it was slowly emerging, as if to get up and join the journey.

**Author's Note:**

> oh jeez, i don't even want to voice how long i've been procrastinating on this fic, but i happened to come across it today and decided i might as well post this part up. i'm very fond of this fic, so i feel bad that i treat it like i do... it's meant to be a oneshot, but since i've had some of it written and this has just been sitting around for [redacted amount of time], i might as well post it up, so the plans have been changed. hopefully i'll be motivated to write up the rest. at most, i estimate that this will have three chapters (or two if i decide to squeeze the following into one chapter...if i manage to write the rest that is...well, i function better when i break things up into pieces to accomplish anyways).
> 
> as always and forever, comments and kudos are very much appreciated <3


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